


Gain

by quaffanddoff



Series: Give_Satisfaction [11]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mirror Sex, Nudity, POV Jeeves, Pining, Sexual Tension, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaffanddoff/pseuds/quaffanddoff
Summary: Jeeves pays close attention to even the smallest of details.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Series: Give_Satisfaction [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561192
Comments: 1
Kudos: 72





	Gain

“Jeeves, where is my grey suit with the little specks of colour?”

“Our heather mixture lounge, sir?”

“Yes, that’s the chap. Thought it would be rather the thing for today, but it seems to have disappeared.” Mr. Wooster was standing in his bedroom peering inquisitively into his wardrobe. Having exited the bathtub just a few minutes earlier, he was clad only in a towel wrapped around his hips. I usually leave the room to give him privacy while he changes into the clothes I have laid out for him, but today he had called me back in.

“It's at the tailor’s, sir, I shall pick it up tomorrow. Do you require anything else, sir?” I asked, hoping that was the end of that discussion.

“The tailor’s? I didn’t notice that it needed any mending. Is he patching up a hole or something?”

I cleared my throat to buy myself a little time. “No, sir. Some minor alterations to improve the fit.”

Mr. Wooster cocked his head curiously. “What was wrong with the fit before?” 

“Well, sir, the waistband of the trousers needed to be let out slightly.”

“The waistband needed…? What are you saying?”

“One aims for the trousers to lay with proper tensity about the waist, sir.”

“Of course, Jeeves, I know you have all kinds of fruity ideas about the fit of trousers. But why the sudden need for a change? Do you mean to tell me that I’ve gained weight?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Wooster looked skeptical. His arms crossed in front of his bare chest defensively. “No, that can’t be right. I haven’t gained an ounce since I was at Oxford. It’s a curse, really, always being so bally gangly. Used to get teased for it at school.”

I remained silent as he shifted to stand in front of the mirror. He scrutinized his reflection, turning to view his silhouette from the left, the right, over his shoulder, then straight on. He placed a hand on his chest, then ran it down to his belly, rubbing it appraisingly. He drew in a deep breath and pulled his shoulders back, straightening his posture. Then he exhaled and let his shoulders drop. All the while he stared at his own image in the mirror. “By Jove, maybe you’re right. Perhaps there is more Wooster now than there used to be.” 

He sounded a little dejected. I knew I needed to play this carefully. “Merely a few additional kilograms, sir. If you’ll pardon the liberty, the gain suits you.”

Rarely had I uttered such an understatement.

Mr. Wooster’s form has always been a secret source of furtive, private pleasure to me. The gratification I derive from it contains a curious paradox: when I look at him—which I do as often as I think I can get away with it—I see two different visions simultaneously, as if overlaid upon one another. One, I am perfectly capable of recognizing, is quite average, a standard, middle-of-the-road sort of young male. I know it is this vision that most people see. There is nothing wrong with my eyesight—I can see it too—I understand what the world means when it calls him gangly, lanky, or, most charitably, slender. 

However, somehow, there is another perspective that is apparently mine to enjoy alone. Superimposed upon this unremarkable young man, I see a divine creature that has captured my imagination and invaded my fantasies. I know that he’s ordinary, but he’s also extraordinary. His figure only appears average if your eye is not attuned to real beauty. If your aesthetic discernment can transcend the mundane, like mine can, you will see that his body is actually exquisitely balanced: a lissome yet sturdy build, a supple yet strong physique. 

I am always careful to not be caught staring because my first slip-up could very well be my last. If I had enough willpower, I would not allow myself to take such risks. But I feel that I truly cannot help myself. His body attracts my gaze like a magnet and I am powerless to resist.

And now, something that I already saw as a perfect ideal had somehow been enhanced further. He had indeed gained a noticeable amount of weight in recent months—noticeable, that is, only to someone watching as closely as I. His chest and upper arms looked no more muscular, but a little fuller. His abdominal muscles had never been sharply defined, but his stomach had been flat, whereas now there was a bit more heft about his midsection. His angular facial features had softened by a barely perceptible degree. Something about the overall effect was furiously, maddeningly alluring to me. He looked a little older, less of a boy and more of a man. It provided him a kind of poise, a new sense of gravitas.

“You think it suits me?” he echoed, and I was privileged to enjoy the sight of his blush spreading not just upon his face but also a little upon his bare chest.

“Yes, sir.” I didn’t trust myself to go into any further detail.

“How did you even know I had gained weight?”

“I noticed, sir.”

“You were just…looking at my—at me? And you saw?”

“It is part of my duties to make sure your attire is appropriate in all aspects, including fit, sir.”

“Where exactly did you notice it on me?”

“Sir?”

“Come here so you can tell me.” I moved closer until I was standing just behind him. We made eye contact only via the mirror. “Did you notice it here, on my stomach?” He patted his hand on his belly again. “Or my chest?” His hand glided up to his breast, brushing over one pectoral, then through his chest hair to graze the other. “My arms?” He clasped his opposite bicep. 

Although the room still felt warm and humid from his recent bath, I felt a shiver run through me. The flat seemed unnaturally quiet. His reversed image in the mirror looked so like him but just slightly...off. The uncanny effect made me feel off-balance.

“Can you tell from my face, here?” he asked, now holding his own smooth, freshly-shaven jaw. He turned his head to one side, then to the other, making the tendons in his neck stand out, but didn’t break the steady eye contact with me. “Or my legs?” His hand dropped down. The towel that was wrapped around his waist hung down to his knees, so he had to reach up under it slightly in order to seize his thigh. 

All I could do was stand there mutely, gripped with tension, and watch. It took all my powers of self-control to betray nothing of what was happening inside me.

“Or here?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand slid to the back of his thigh and then upward, taking the towel with it. More and more of his leg was unveiled until his hand reached its final destination. I watched it grasp his bared buttock.

“Yes, sir,” I breathed into the back of his neck, my hand covering his and squeezing hard.


End file.
